Damaged
by Cardinal Robbins
Summary: Once he caught sight of me, he bolted out the window, John said. I chased him down the fire escape as fast as I could. Stitt had his weapon ready, Crandall – the perp – drew a semiauto, then suddenly we were in the middle of a shootout.  SVU  AU COMPLETE


"Damaged"

by Cardinal Robbins

The usual disclaimer: Munch isn't mine, but I sure would take him if offered. Zelman is mine and she'll always follow Munch. All H:LOTS characters belong to Levinson/Fontana and David Simon. Don't sue me, fellows, or I'll bite. You wouldn't want to see that!

They went home in near silence, John behind the wheel, weaving his way through the congested Manhattan traffic. Wordlessly, he got them to Sarah's place, pulled the unmarked behind her Saturn VUE and turned off the ignition.

"Home at last," he declared, a heavy sigh escaping.

"We can take the elevator up," Sarah offered.

"It would probably be best," he admitted, hesitating a moment before opening the car door.

She watched him wince in momentary pain as he got out of the car, standing up slowly. "This day was twenty years long."

"It's about to end, though," she assured him, going to his side so they could walk to the elevators together.

They rode up in completely silence, John almost staring at his haggard visage in the mirrored doors. "I think I'm sixty going on one hundred right now."

"I know," Sarah said, trying to think of a way to comfort him. "Would you like take-out tonight? Maybe some Greek food?"

"Whatever you want will be fine," he replied, too wiped out to even think about eating. He waited on leaden legs as she unlocked the door, pain extending in a deep ache from his long legs through his back.

They went inside, John immediately taking off his shoes, suit coat and tie.

"C'mon," Sarah said. "I have just what you need. We'll figure out dinner later." She took him by the hand, concerned he seemed far too exhausted to resist. Not that he would, she thought.

They walked into the bathroom and she cringed as he painfully removed his socks. She unbuttoned his shirt, noticing his downcast dark eyes. He shrugged out of his dress shirt, then pulled off his undershirt as she quickly undressed. She took off his dark glasses, leaving them on the sink.

He finished undressing as she turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature. Warm. Very warm. Still unusually quiet, he stepped inside, turning to let the water pound his back and legs.

She stepped in next to him, pulling the curtain closed. "Now we're cozy," she said, kissing him softly. She lathered a washcloth to gently scrub his shoulders and chest. Before she finished, she kissed him again. "You'll feel a whole lot better, once I get you into bed."

"I'm afraid I'll be a disappointment tonight," he said wearily. "Do you mind if we don't – "

"Don't worry, sweetheart," she replied. "Dancing in the sheets wasn't what I had in mind."

He forced a tight smile, then turned as she motioned to him. She scrubbed his back as he put his hands on the wall in front of him, spray hitting his face. He luxuriated in her touch as she washed his hair. When they finished, he stepped out and handed her a towel as he wrapped one around his midsection. "Thank you," he said, kissing her lightly. He wished he could think of the right words, to let her know how grateful he was to have her.

It wasn't necessary; she could see it on his face. She led him into the bedroom, pulling back the covers as he slipped into bed. Instead of drawing the sheet, quilt and comforter over him, she pushed them farther aside, covering him with a soft terrycloth bath sheet instead.

"What are you doing?" he asked, momentarily perplexed. "I thought we agreed not to – "

"I'm giving you a massage," she explained, taking herbal oil from the nightstand drawer. "Is that all right? I promise to be gentle."

"You always are…" He took a deep breath and settled deeper into his pillow. "Somehow, you almost always know what I need."

"Today was kind of obvious," she said gently. "You were limping a lot more than usual. It worried me." She poured a small amount of oil into her hands, before rubbing them together to warm it.

"Everyone saw me limping today, but even Don was good enough not to mention it." He felt her hands on his neck, the scent of the warmed oil relaxing him. "At least I'm not the only one on the squad who hobbles from time to time."

She recognized his remark for what it was: Security. Sometimes, coworkers in their late thirties silently reminded them both of their respective ages. Sarah knew John rarely ran if he could help it, but he also noticed how much she limped after chasing down a perp. In her case, it was inherited osteoarthritis, the NYPD having given her a pass on the required physical exam, thanks to her unique law enforcement skills and experience.

John's issues were completely different; a previous injury, but no one on the squad knew when, what or why. On days where he limped more than usual, everyone but their captain shared speculation. Don Cragen knew, but he felt it was up to Munch to share the story – or not.

Sarah took even more time and care with his back, shoulders and legs. Her hands worked their magic while John sighed, his body finally relinquishing its grip on his aching muscles. Sarah's hand lingered for a moment, rubbing gently over a scar at the center of the back of his left knee.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out as she continued to ease the pain he'd felt all day.

"John?"

"Yes, sweetie?" he asked sleepily.

"What's this scar from? It looks like it's from an entry wound."

"I can't get anything past you," Munch replied, thinking it was time to tell her the truth. "Yes, it is a scar from an entry wound."

"How did it happen?" she asked, curious.

"I was working the Southwest section, where I caught a bullet in my second year as a Baltimore uniform. Working second shift with a guy who almost always had my back. A real good partner," he continued. "A family man, too." He let his mind drift back as she continued the massage, surprised at how much he remembered about that night.

"Just after sunset, we ran a perp into an old, deserted storefront. He'd been dealing black tar smack. We caught him doing a large transaction on his corner, he made us immediately and ran.

"There we were, calling for backup while we gave chase. We knew he had us in sight from the front, which meant Kevin – Kevin Stitt, my partner at the time – took the back while I went in through the front. The back door was wide open.

"I could hear him on the second floor. I drew my gun, then motioned to Stitt to cover the fire escape, while I headed up the stairs. He was in what used to be an apartment above the old bodega, hiding his stash in a hole in one of the bedroom walls."

Sarah listened silently, able to visualize the crime scene with almost as much clarity as John. She glanced over at him, nodded to make sure he knew she was listening, then poured more herbal oil into her palm. She had been wondering about his limp, a bit surprised he hadn't told her everything earlier in their relationship.

"Once he caught sight of me, he bolted out the window," John said. "I chased him down the fire escape as fast as I could. Stitt had his weapon ready, Crandall – the perp – drew a semi-auto, then suddenly we were in the middle of a shoot-out.

"I think we'd each fired twice before Crandall made it to the alley. Stitt was maneuvering to get in front of him and I almost had him from behind. My mistake was turning around when I heard the backup units arrive.

"My partner yelled to warn me, fired a shot and the perp went down, but not before he'd pulled off a shot as well. Before I realized what had happened, my left leg felt like it was on fire and I fell. Luckily, the slug hit the pavement first, then hit me. Stitt made the collar while EMS came for me. Would you believe it? The perp was only grazed in the melee.

"At least we helped put Crandall away for the rest of his natural life, in a max security house. My being there wasn't a complete loss, if you look at it that way.

"Once or twice, the possibility crossed my mind, perhaps the slug had come from my partner's gun. Ballistics came back and cleared him, with proof it was from the perp's gun. The bullet had damaged my ACL, along with ligaments on both sides of my knee, because of the trajectory," he explained. "I hated being off the streets, but it gave me time to learn quite a bit about detective work, which eventually led me here in the greater scheme of things."

"A ricochet," Sarah said, a bit stunned. "Why didn't you ever tell Bolander?"

"What makes you think I didn't," John replied, a bit affronted.

"Because he thought you were born with a horseshoe up your butt," she began, "and if he knew you'd caught a slug, he wouldn't have felt that way."

"Are we the wise-ass tonight?" he teased. "I didn't say anything because, while police get shot, who catches a bullet on the first bounce? Think about it: I was lucky, because if the shot hadn't slowed, it could have ended my career while I was still a uniform."

She considered this for a long moment. "True. All the physical therapy though, schlepping around on crutches. What a drag… Desk duty for all those long weeks must have been hell."

"Sarah, you already know how it is," he reminded her gently. "You blew your knee out in practically the same way, while you were with the Bureau. Four years on and off crutches… That's an eternity. I came out better than you did, babe."

"Maybe so," she admitted. "I wasn't shot; however, I was taking down a perp when it happened. Time will tell how good or bad things are, the next time I need a repair job."

"Hopefully, it won't be soon," he ventured.

"Amen to that," she retorted. "Is there anything more they can do you for these days?" With continued advances in arthroscopic surgery, she felt perhaps there was something they could do to improve his knee problem.

"Not as far as I know," he said, a bit sadly. "Before we met, I'd checked out the possibilities, but both surgeons said the guy I had did all anyone could."

She frowned, thinking of another aspect of his injury. "I'd be willing to bet, none of the wives or girlfriends cared about it all that much, even when you'd had a hell of a bad day."

"Sad but true. They figured a police should be tough enough to shine it on," he replied. "Gwen was a little better about tolerating my worst days, but it frightened her to realize I'd been downed by a bullet. Looking back," he continued, "I can't blame her for wanting out of our marriage. It's tough being married to a cop."

"John, all of us have good days and bad, like today; you're certainly entitled to your share. They all forgot the one most important thing – you're human," she said adamantly. "Don't expect me to forget that anytime soon."

"You mean I don't have to wear a cape, leap tall buildings in a single bound, or save damsels in distress?" he teased, feeling remarkably better after her ministrations.

Finished massing him, she again covered him with the soft terrycloth. "You saved me, sweetheart. I think you've proved enough for one lifetime." Sarah looked at him and smiled, a bit sadly, but she was glad he'd explained to her what had happened. She was just glad he was there with her, instead of having been permanently impaired and spending his career riding a desk. "Hungry yet?"

"Ravenous," he replied, smiling. "Still want Greek food?"

"I realized we have some in the freezer and fridge," she said. "Spanakopita? Maybe a little baklava later?" She was happy to go fix dinner for them, since the past few days had been a variety of take-out, most of it cold by the time they were ready to eat.

"Let's pass on the pastry," he said, a grin on his face. "I have something else in mind that's sweet."

Her curiosity was piqued. "And it would be?"

"You."

For those who are curious: The ACL is the anterior cruciate ligament. It is responsible for the knee's overall stability and ability to flex.


End file.
